This should be in the dictionary under “loaded statement.” The potential was vast, none of it good either. *cue music from Jaws*

G’s full-blown talents for exploration, imitation, and determination put me instantly on edge. Earlier this morning she was busy playing with my cordless drill, then her cordless drill, then my cordless drill again while I was installing a closet rod. She understood everything that was going on, the drill’s use, the screws that needed tightening.

Knowledge is power!
Power corrupts!
Study hard, be evil!

I was able to keep the black descent into anarchy at bay by having her run back and forth to fetch various tools, search for parts, turn the lights on for me. But then I got busy feeding Alana, and dismissed the clanging and banging going on in the kitchen. Big mistake.

*cue music from Escape from New York*

I peeked into the kitchen, no obvious signs of carnage. This was good. Then she said it again, I cleaned all the white eggs. very proud of herself, she was. *cue music from 28 Weeks Later* I ventured warily into the fridge, expecting a scene out of 30 Days of Night. There are a few hard-boiled painted eggs left over from Easter sitting in a container with some raw ones. She repeats. I open the container. *cue music from the Sixth Sense* Inside sitting pertly in some of the cups are 2 cracked, empty eggshells.

So now I’m stumped! *cue music from LOST* (wait, LOST doesn’t have music, just a vauguely unsettling graphic and sound effect?!)

Me: you did a good job cleaning
G: thank you
Me: Did you use a towel?
G: yes
Me: where is it?
G: over here

Sitting back on the pile of clean kitchen towels in the closet is a yolky yellow-streaked towel. Neatly foled, I might add.

I wonder if she’ll do diapers?